Sunday, November 21, 2004

requiem for a nightmare

Around two o'clock, I find myself in a town about an hour south of here, ensconced in a not-so-comfortable theatre chair, a little jittery with anticipation. The orchestra files out onstage, sans concertmaster, and the choir floods out and claims the risers. Lights dimming, conversation in the auditorium dropps off to a trickle. From the very first swipe of the director’s baton, the beginning strains of the Introit and Kyrie rolling over the audience to fill every corner of the auditorium, I have severe goosebumps. There's always been something about Mozart's Requiem (his last piece, not even finished before he died in 1791) that overwhelms me. It's so dark, so deep, so amazingly powerful. I feel dwarfed by its presence; it makes my forearms prickle, chills zip up my spine, and tears fall down my face.

. . .
(change of tenses inevitable)
. . .
Later, I was on my way home and turned on the radio to the sound of the ancient newscaster's drone -- he always sounds slightly mechanical, and his voice didn't sound any different today, delivering the newsflash. About forty minutes from where I live, a guy in camo with a rifle was traveling around on an ATV, SHOOTING HUNTERS. He killed five and injured three more. I totally freaked out. I thought my theatre god was hunting in those woods today, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I text-messaged him (O, CRUEL ADDICTION!) and felt sick until twenty minutes later when I got a call. He's safe, and I'll see him tomorrow. I hadn't been that worried about anything for a long time...anything real, that is. I worry about tests and projects and trivial stuff all the time, but this was something so much more important...a life. the life of a human being to whom I'm close. During those 20 minutes, my mind raced and acted out many scenarios. I wondered what it'd be like if he had been shot. What would I do? Would I still take my French test tomorrow, or would I be in the downstairs lounge at the student center, wrapped in a blanket and crying my eyes out? Would people leave me to mourn alone, would they understand my grief, or would I go nothing? What would his family do...his father...his older brother...his 90 year-old grandmother? He is just one human, but he has touched so many people. If something happened to him, who would I sit by in theatre class? Who would wink at me after every test? Who would gloat over beating me at my own game? Who would leave stuff on my windshield for me when I've had a long day? Who would go for walks with me and laugh at the cold nika who's wearing his jacket that completely engulfs her body all the way down to her fingertips?

I don't know. And now, I'm relieved I don't have to figure it out.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

amelie and magical girlfriends

Magical girlfriend: [ma-ji-kul gurl-frend] Unable to be detected by normal humans, a Magical Girlfriend is discernible to only a best friend, and startles/dismays everyone else when she appears out of thin air.

When/if I ever snag a boyfriend, I'd darn well better not be a magical girlfriend. he'd better talk about me, at least drop a hint, at least let the "g" word pass through his lips sometimes. there is only one thing I dislike more than magical girlfriends, and that is brushing my teeth in front of people. this is serious.

In the movie "Amelie," the young woman (Amelie, heh) finds pleasure in bringing special beauty into the lives of those who surround her, in the form of little surprises, left anonymously. I feel like Amelie tonight, as I prepare a 7-track CD I'm going to slip into someone's backpack tomorrow (undetected, please oh please! leave your backpack -- unattended -- where you usually leave it when you go to lunch!). sneaky sneaky, O Bestower of Beautiful Music on Unsuspecting Masses.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

weekend quotes

"It's all about the hat."
"So I should get a baseball hat!"
"You could...but could you look this good?"

"A vote for Nader is a vote for soul."

Theatre class instructor: "During the Italian Renaissance, people didn't go to the theatre to watch the play. No, they got all dressed up in all their finery, in these amazing outfits, and they went to be seen."
"That's the only reason I come to class. To be seen."


Friday night and all day Saturday, I was a middle-school counselor at a camp; all the 12 year olds in my cabin got crushes on two of the male counselors, Dustin and Josh. Last night we were praying before they left, and I started the prayer, asking for safe travel, etc., and then anyone who wanted to pray, could. Kelsey prayed, Mariah prayed, Kerryn prayed, and then I heard Mariah's voice again.
"God, thank you for Dustin."
They were already giggling, and I couldn't help speaking up...
..."God, thank you that Dustin and Josh are so HOTT."

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

wherein realization strikes me like a lightning bolt

While lying on the living room floor at one AM, watching NBC and waiting for votes to be counted, I suddenly saw truth:

At times,
John Kerry looks like an old, wrinkly Hugh Grant .


I exercised my democratic right to vote yesterday between my com and astronomy classes. I am so tired of political banter and disgusted by the rude, disrespectful way people treat the candidates (yes, I know I said that that one quiz about John Kerry made me throw up a little. I subsequently issued him an apology). I'm glad it's over; my mom and dad's BushCheney04 lawn signs are down now, and my school is no longer divided. The last few days, Kerry waged a good battle, and was a good loser. His speech today was amazing, and I was very proud of him. Proud to live in America. Clap, people. It's over, and we all have another four years of Bush.